Gatlinburg

We sat in a restaurant across the street from the Official Trump Store in silence. Here I was on a trip with my boyfriend, an immigrant, and there was this big, neon red sign pointed right at him, saying, “You’re not welcome here!” 

In the window of every souvenir shop in Gatlinburg are photos of Trump’s face–ear in a bandage–the words “American Hero” in some egregious puffy paint just below his chin. 

Next to those are t-shirts sporting Biden, Harris, and a squirrel with the words “Who elected Deez Nuts?” 

Oh, and of course there were the standard pins, postcards, magnets, and confederate flag paraphernalia.

I wanted to leave immediately, and asked him to, but he wanted to stay, “This is America, where are we going to go?”

Downtown Gatlinburg is a genuinely terrifying place. People move like zombies–spending money they don’t have and sending their kids to play mini golf while they drink beer and sample a selection of Fox News flavored cheeses and meats. 

It is all of conservative consumerism condensed into four blocks. It is $5 for water and Trump branded moonshine and hand crafted weapons on every corner. 

Before you call me an elitist asshole, let me tell you that Gatlinburg is other things too. We found out from a server at the bar that Gatlinburg is where hundreds of Ukrainian refugees came to live and work. Gatlinburg is where people who love the mountains–who grew up in the Smokies–make a living.

We found our sanity where it always is–in people working service jobs. 

It has become increasingly obvious to me that when you feed people shit, they’re going to get sick. When you take the poorest part of our country—the South—and feed them Trump, Rippley’s Believe It Or Not, and massive amounts of alcohol, they’re going to become sick, hateful, and resentful. 

All this to say, I don’t blame the people vacationing there, I blame the people and industries with a stake in what Gatlinburg is selling.

Thankfully, we only spent a few hours in downtown Gatlinburg. The rest of the trip we spent stumbling up mountains, hiking several miles of the Appalachian trail, running into bear cubs, and standing under waterfalls. 

Something crazy happens when you spend three days in the woods–you feel really fucking happy. 

Gatlinburg is gorgeous, and the Smokies are ancient and magical. We watched the sunset from the highest peak and stayed to see the stars come out. We were high enough and far enough away that we saw the curves of the Milky Way. 

We stood so long looking up that our necks got sore. 

Despite the conservative, consumerist hell that is downtown Gatlinburg, it was one of the best trips I’ve ever been on. Seeing the Milky Way with someone you love—crying because you’re so, unbelievably happy? Suck it racist assholes—you fucking wish.